


The Hunt

by floralstiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Self-Lubrication
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-22
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-30 03:26:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1013526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floralstiel/pseuds/floralstiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The days were already shorter and darker than the summer, and the winter Hunts were infamous for their difficulty and length. Some lasted for weeks at a time, and Dean almost wished that he would last to the end, remain unmated until next year. He wasn’t ready, not at all, and while the Hunt was a tradition he had never questioned in the past, he found himself embittered to his fate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hunt

Dean panted and wiped the sweat from his brow. The stench of his sweat would only make it easier for his pursuers to find him and he cursed. It was the middle of December and his breath fogged in his face and his sweat dried quickly. He wiped away the rest and kept running.

The Hunt happened twice a year; during the first week of summer and the first week of winter. His pack was heavy on his back, it slowed him down, but he needed it. The others still miles behind him would need theirs as well, for when the time came. He shuddered at the thought and he quickened his pace. It was unwise—he would need to save his strength—but his breath burned in his lungs and his heart felt fit to burst from his chest it was beating so rapidly.

A branch caught on his cheek and he grunted in surprise more than pain. He tapped at his face and his fingertips came back bloody. He sniffed and his scent was everywhere now. He sobbed and cut left through a thicker copse of fir trees. He didn’t want to be captured, he didn’t want a stranger to hold him down, to rip his clothes from his body and take him, rut into him in the cold and snow like an animal until they forced him into an early heat. His tears formed freezing tracks down his face and he bit his lip bloody. It didn’t matter now, he would be impossible to miss. The others were faster than him, stronger, he wouldn’t stand a chance.

There was only one man that Dean would have wanted, but he was big, lumbering man, the chances of him finding Dean first were slim. Dean had caught the eye of many in their village, and those interested few hadn’t exactly made it a secret. After his first heat barely a month earlier they shadowed him in the streets, buying him gifts and making promises—both good and bad—and Dean had struggled through their advances with a tight lip and a smile. The one he wanted—Benny Lafitte, the butcher—had been one of his suitors, though the man had been more subtle and respectful. Dean got the feeling Benny viewed him as more than some hole or a baby maker with a pretty face. He laughed wildly, only once, as he continued to run. His luck wasn’t nearly good enough believe Benny would be the first to find him.

The days were already shorter and darker than the summer, and the winter Hunts were infamous for their difficulty and length. Some lasted for weeks at a time, and Dean almost wished that he would last to the end, remain unmated until next year. He wasn’t ready, not at all, and while the Hunt was a tradition he had never questioned in the past, he found himself embittered to his fate.

He could barely see where he was going, he tripped over roots every few minutes, and he gasped when one sent him sprawling to the frozen ground. He lay there in the snow for a minute, panting and crying, and he kicked himself up and starting running again, limping heavily, when he heard a snap from behind him. His breaths were coming in ragged, wheezing pulls, and he felt like he was having a panic attack. He heard the crunch of footsteps on snow yards behind him and he whined, pushing tree limbs aside as he fled, getting battered, bruised and scraped more than ever.

He heard the crack before he felt it, and he nearly crumpled to the ground in pain. He looked down in horror at his left hand, his pinky and ring finger were both crooked and bent the wrong way. He screamed hoarsely, cradled his hand to his stomach and kept running. He could hear his pursuer’s panted breaths from almost directly behind him, imagined his heat against his back, but he had no hope of smelling who it was over the stink of his own blood and fear.

“Stop running, boy,” Dean heard the man shout, “you’re gonna work yourself to death!”

Dean staggered to a halt and whirled on the man, throat nearly seizing shut when he saw him. It was the butcher, completely out of breath, but him all the same. Dean’s breaths hitched and fresh tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. He dared to smile and he clutched at his broken fingers desperately. Benny stopped short and glanced down at his hands with a concerned frown and shrugged his pack from his back. Dean stood frozen when Benny rummaged around and brought out the small, regulation first-aid kit that everyone was required to carry. He opened it and pulled out the medical tape and wrappings, and he broke off a few sprigs from the tree beside him, fashioning makeshift splints.

“C’mere,” he ordered gruffly, beckoning Dean forward. Dean licked his bloodied lips, Benny’s hands were so large, would probably be warm, calloused, but he would be gentle, so gentle…Dean found himself sitting in front of Benny in a heartbeat, practically in his lap, shivering in pain and from the cold he could now feel so starkly juxtaposed against the heat in front of him.

“I gotcha now, I gotcha, I’ll take care of you,” Benny muttered, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead before he grasped Dean’s broken fingers and reset them with a harsh jerk. Dean cried out and buried his face in Benny’s coat, feeling the cold wool grow damp with his tears. Benny rubbed his back and shushed him, and Dean wondered why he even bothered to help him, why he wasn’t simply pushing him to the ground to have his way with him. Dean knew that Benny was different than the others, but he was still an alpha, and Dean was still an omega, and the whole point of the Hunt was to trigger Dean’s next heat and to mate. Instead Benny gently cradled his fingers and bound them tight, setting them with the wood splints, and then he got to work pitching their tent. Dean tried to get up to help but Benny gently pushed him back onto the ground. Dean fiddled with a loose thread on his wrappings before he shrugged off his own pack, figuring he’d make himself useful since Benny didn’t seem all that concerned with sex at the moment.

He struggled for a minute but managed to pull out his bedroll and the hotplate beneath it, as well as the day’s prepared foods his mother had packed for him; a slightly squashed loaf of bread, a wrapped package of meat, some sort of yellow, sharp cheese, and a canister of coffee that needed to be heated.  Benny produced a large can of tomato soup from his own bag and set it down by Dean’s foot, it had a pop-top so Dean wouldn’t have to worry about puncturing the metal lid. He rummaged in his pack and found his old, battered pot to use for the soup, and he had the hotplate warming the soup by the time Benny had finished with their tent.

“Let’s bring all this inside,” Benny said, gathering Dean’s pack and the rest of the food, “I don’t want to freeze while I eat.”

Benny smiled as he left, and Dean’s heart warmed. He managed to grasp the pot in his bad hand by the handle and the hotplate in the other and he joined Benny in the tent. It was roomier than he had anticipated—though he supposed it had to be, most alphas were Benny’s size and it wasn’t as if the tent was designed with two _omegas_ in mind—he shuffled forward on his knees and placed the soup between them, settling back onto his spread bedroll. Benny wouldn’t let him lift a finger after that, he prepared their food himself with a soft, content grin. He wouldn’t stop smiling when he looked at Dean, and Dean felt much the same, though he was still wary, and exhausted. If Benny tried to take him now Dean wouldn’t be able to fight him off even if he wanted to. He could feel the first stirrings of his heat even now, before they’d even so much as kissed. He squirmed when Benny handed him a bowl of steaming soup and their fingers brushed when he took it. He cradled it close and savored its warmth, sighing when it helped ease the throbbing pain in his fingers.

They ate in relative silence, and it wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable, Dean actually enjoyed his meal for once in the presence of an alpha where normally he’d be fidgety and nervous. Benny set their bowls and plates aside once they were finished and he set to work lining their tent and sealing it shut to ward off the cold. He pulled several blankets from his pack and Dean managed to yank his out as well and before Dean could really protest—not like he had the mind to in the first place—Benny moved the hotplate to the front of the tent and pushed their bedrolls together, creating a giant, blanket covered nest for the both of them.

Dean tried not to look Benny’s way as he undressed, but he could feel the alpha’s eyes on him. Their combined body heats and the leftover warmth from the hotplate made the tent bloom with heat but it was still chilly enough for his nipples to harden and goose bumps spread over his arms and legs. He blushed when he pulled up his shirt and the soft cotton dragged over his sensitive chest. He unbuckled his pants and pushed them down past his hips, letting loose a soft sound of surprise when he felt Benny’s hands fall over his, helping him push them down his legs and bent knees. Soon all that remained between them was Dean’s worn pair of lucky boxers—the only comfort item he allowed himself to bring with him—and Benny traced over the ratty hem with his fingertips.

Dean gasped when Benny finally— _finally_ —pulled him back into his chest with a grunt, yanking his head around to plant a kiss on his already spread lips. Dean moaned desperately when Benny’s other hand curled around his chest and dipped lower, palming his erection through the thin layer of fabric between them. His heartbeat was pounding in his ears and he could barely hear himself murmuring pleas for more around Benny’s plundering mouth. Benny growled and Dean fought the urge to collapse onto his hands and knees to present himself then and there for the taking. But why didn’t he? It’s what they were there for. Maybe it was the way Benny was holding him, tender but firm, that stopped him.

Dean pressed into his new mate’s touch and sighed when he was turned to face him. He flushed when he saw Benny’s bared chest and he felt the beginnings of wetness between his cheeks and he squirmed. Benny chuckled and kissed him again, showering him with endearments and promises and coming from him Dean didn’t mind. He groaned in Benny’s mouth when the larger man reached between his legs to cup his erection, Dean didn’t even notice he had gotten hard, and Benny rubbed him slowly through his boxers. Dean moaned and rocked into his touch, arching when sharp pleasure shot up his spine. Benny had worked his other hand down past his waistband and his thick, calloused fingers—just like Dean had fantasized—were rubbing over his rim, forcing more slick from his hole. Benny only had to press a fingertip into him and Dean collapsed against him, writhing and pleading with him.

Talking would come later Dean thought as Benny lowered him onto his back and he spread his legs to make room for him after the alpha pulled his boxers off, exposing him to the warming air between them. His cock was flushed pink, hard and almost painful where it rested against his stomach, and Benny pressed against the head with his thumb. Dean groaned and tossed his head, slamming his eyes shut when Benny huffed and brought that thumb to his mouth, tasting Dean’s precome. It was satisfying for Dean to see Benny consume him in such a way, and he flushed hot imagining what else Benny could lick from him, and as if he understood his train of thought Benny smirked and returned his hand to Dean’s body, only he slipped lower between his spread thighs to press at his hole. Dean was soaked by now, leaking over their makeshift bed and Benny’s nostrils flared to take in his scent completely. Dean sighed and let him press first one finger then two up into his body. The going was smooth but tight, and Benny pulled his fingers free with a wet, sucking sound a moment later to taste him. Dean threw an arm over his face to hide his expression, wanton and burning and mortified. He lifted his hips in a slow rhythm, trying to entice Benny to get back to what he was supposed to be doing.

He knew what he wanted from the man, he had his desires, but he hadn’t the voice to speak them, and he longed to hiss his commands into his mate’s ear without embarrassment or fear of overstepping his bounds. That would come later, much later, but he looked forward to the day.

Benny pulled him closer to his groin by his hips, spreading his legs further apart until they were almost pressed into the blankets around them. Dean couldn’t move from his new position and he whined, feeling too closed in, claustrophobic, and he clawed at Benny’s arms desperately.

“It’s alright,” Benny soothed him, pressing butterfly kisses over his cheek and neck as he stroked his fingers through his hair, “m’ not gonna hurt you, Dean, you’re safe.”

His hand dragged down Dean’s heaving chest and his fingernails scraped over his nipples and Dean hissed, trying to arch up into the contact despite himself. He was a creature of comfort, both by his nature and upbringing, and he couldn’t deny that Benny’s touch was sending him all the right signals. He mewled when Benny’s fingers pressed back inside of him, spreading and twisting, opening him for his alpha’s cock. Dean glanced between his legs and caught a glimpse of the bulge waiting for him behind Benny’s pants. He was filled with a desire to feel it, to taste it, he wanted to be pumped full of his alpha’s seed and fucked until he couldn’t move.

“Please,” he whimpered when Benny pressed a third, and then a fourth finger inside of him. He clawed at the belt around Benny’s waist, succeeding in unbuckling it and ripping it through the belt loops, and he tried to work the button and zip but Benny grabbed both of his wrists—and when did his fingers leave his body?—and pressed them both down into the blankets. Benny released him but Dean kept his hands by his head and he worried his lip between his teeth and lowered his eyes, baring his throat. Benny moaned and leaned over him, licking and biting along the smooth, exposed column of his neck. Dean shifted and gasped when Benny broke his skin, sucking through the blood to bruise.

Before Dean could beg any longer he felt something thicker and hotter than fingers press against him, and then Benny was sliding home in one long, smooth thrust. Dean keened when it felt as if the penetration would never end; Benny was thicker and longer than anything Dean had ever felt before. He’d used toys when he had struggled through his first heat alone, but nothing like this. Benny didn’t wait for him to beg, he gripped his hips and slammed home again and again, the only sounds in the tent were their frenzied breaths and the slap of skin on skin.

Much like his first heat he lost awareness fairly quickly and as hard as he tried he couldn’t think past the feeling of Benny stretching him and taking him so roughly. By the time Benny’s knot caught on his rim he couldn’t breathe, he was beyond the point of desperate arousal. His cock was dripping precome over his stomach and he was sobbing from being denied his release for so long—at least it felt like a long time, an hour at least, but that couldn’t be right, could it?—and the spread of Benny’s release inside of him was almost enough to send him over the edge, but he couldn’t find the energy to reach for his cock.

Benny beat him to it, grunting when Dean’s muscles clamped down around him. Dean writhed languidly and barely managed to thrust up into Benny’s hand. Benny held him tighter and Dean cried out as he came in small spurts over the man’s hand and his heaving stomach. Benny groaned and stroked him through it, rutting as much as he could before Dean locked him in completely. He felt completely out of control of his body, it was so, so different than what he remembered during his first heat. His muscles hadn’t felt this stiff and he was never this desperate to have an alpha drape himself over him, to press him into their nest and never leave him.

He blinked tears away and smiled softly, reaching up with shaky hands to cradle Benny’s jaw reverently. Mated, they were mated inseparably, and now he could feel the connection in his bones. They would have to talk at some point but at the moment, with Benny’s seed still coating his insides with more coming every few seconds, he was content to lay there and doze while Benny nuzzled the bloodied mark on his neck.

They were locked together for about an hour—Dean was coherent enough to tell—and by the time Benny pulled free with a grimace Dean was half asleep and his neck and hole were sore. Benny kissed him again and pulled him close beneath the blankets, maneuvering him onto his side. The alpha pressed close behind him and wrapped his arms around his waist, keeping him warm. Dean smiled and felt safe and secure, protected and sated, for now. He knew he’d wake up in a few hours, slick and ready again, but this time he had Benny, and he was content.

 


End file.
